


A Kazer Christmas Carol

by aseaofwords



Series: The Kazer Collections [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: A Christmas Carol, Chicago Blackhawks, F/M, Kazer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 09:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseaofwords/pseuds/aseaofwords
Summary: Patrick Kane is the Scrooge of Christmas. He lost his work partner, his friend, and the love of his life. Bring in the Ghosts of Christmas to set him right.





	A Kazer Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly my favorite thing ever? Like we have
> 
> Kaner as Scrooge (but vv young)  
> Jonathan as Belle  
> Madelyn Sharp as Tiny Tim  
> Sharpy as Bob Crachit  
> Shawzy as the Ghost of Christmas Past  
> Crow as the Ghost of Christmas Present  
> Seabs as the Ghost of Christmas Future
> 
> It's gonna be great guys

It wasn't that Patrick hated Christmas. It's just, he hated spending all that money on people that were completely capable of buying it themselves. And that singing, oh god, that singing. It started December first and wouldn't stop until the new year. Then there was the snow, cars sliding on the roads and kid screaming as they had snowball fights that just made his windows messy-

Okay, yeah, Patrick hated Christmas.

Patrick sat at his desk, papers sprawled about and a lamp lit dimly in the corner of the cherry wood. Empty cups of coffee were scattered about his desk, floor, and trash bin, obvious oblivion and no care for the mess he had made.

Being the CEO of Kane and Co. was a stressful job. He had meetings and interviews and papers to sign and checks to give out-

Patrick winced. Checks. He hated having to give out money, especially Christmas bonuses. Oh no, Christmas bonuses.

A knock came from the door and a timid voice called out, “Mr. Kane?”

Patrick sighed in annoyance, “Yes?”

The door opened, and Patrick Sharp poked his head from around the corner. “Um, hello, sir. I'm leaving- my shift just ended.”

Patrick squinted. “You're usually in for another couple minutes. Why so eager to leave?”

Sharp looked uneasy. “It's Christmas Eve, sir, and I want to get home to my family. As soon as possible, sir, my daughter-”

Patrick waved a hand to cut him off. “Spare me the details, Snap.”

“It's Sharp.”

“Don't correct me,” Patrick glared, “Christmas Eve, huh? I don't see the point.”  
Sharpy frowned. “Well, sir, Christmas is about family and being with the people you love, and getting to-”

“Why are you still here?” Patrick hissed, “Get home to your ‘Christmas’. Seems pointless to me. But you? You have your fun.” There was obvious venom laced into his words, but Sharp had learned to ignore it.

He moved to leave, but paused. “Sir?”

“ _What_ , Stark?”

“Um, may I get my bonus? My family really needs it-”

Patrick’s pen snapped.

He stood, cutting off Sharp. “Christmas is just another day that people have made up,” Patrick spoke in a warning tone, “to make more money and lose it all within a month. You can send the message to the other workers, there will be no Christmas bonuses and no breaks. They're welcome to use their one sick day tomorrow, but that’s it for the rest of their yearly sick day. Now please, Mr. Shack, leave.”

Sharp scurried out of his office in a fright. Patrick let out a heavy sigh and fell back into his seat. He closed his eyes for a bit, until the sound of his door opening again. He peeked an eye open, seeing his assistant, Brandon Saad, walking in with two cups of coffee.

“Why's Sharpy fleeing from the halls like a mouse being chased by a cat?”

Brandon set one of the cups down, and Patrick grabbed it, took a sip, and then took the one in Brandon’s hand, and sipped that.

Brandon frowned, “That was mine.”

“Too late.”

The assistant huffed. “You never answered my question: Why was Sharpy running out of the office like a mouse?”

Patrick furrowed his eyebrows, “Sharpy?”

“It's a nickname,” Brandon rolled his eyes, “For Patrick Sharp? Your secretary.” Patrick just shrugged.

“I yelled at him about cutting Christmas bonuses.”

“You cut out bonuses,” Brandon asked incredulously, “People have been looking forward to those for months! Sharpy needs that money, I need that money, and so does everyone else in this building!”

Patrick chuckled, “I don't.”

If looks could kill, Patrick would be dead.

“Christmas isn't important,” he scoffed, “Bonuses don't need to be given out just because of some stupid holiday.”

Brandon looked wounded. “It's not-” he paused, unable to comprehend the cruelty of the man in front of him, “Christmas is important, Mr. Kane-”

“I've told you, call me Patrick.”

“Patrick- Christmas is important. Christians celebrate the birth of baby Jesus; family who never gets to see each other have a reason to spend so much money to go and visit; there's joy and fun and the chance to be a kid again. Don't you miss that?”

Patrick stared at him blankly, not saying a word. Brandon shook his head in disbelief.

  
“Listen, Brandon, I dunno how it is where you're from, but here, with me, nothing matters but money. Why? Money buys you anything you could ever want. Hell, it'll even buy you love if you pay high enough.” Patrick dismissed, “Christmas means nothing. It's stupid, meaningless, and downright annoying, and anyone who thinks it's fun is an idiot.”

Brandon stared at his boss in utter hurt. He cleared his throat and backed away towards the door. He put his hand on the knob but paused, turning around slightly.

“I pity you, Mr. Kane, and whoever ruined your innocence.”

Then, he walked out, sullen. Patrick stared at the door, before scoffing, and going back to his work.

________________

Around nine, the clock sounded on his watch to signal the hour. Patrick sighed and cracked his neck, before popping his knuckles. He turned off the alarm and looked outside. Ugh, it was snowing. That meant midnight traffic.

Patrick began to turn everything off. The computer, the lights. His hand was on the knob to turn off the lamp, when his ears perked up. There was a thumping sound. It was heavy, almost like footsteps. They were slow and hard, and after every second step, there was a sound like metal moving against the floor.

Patrick’s muscles seized up. He knew he should have kept a gun in his desk. He picked up the phone, and his heart dropped when he didn't hear a dial tone. He closed his eyes and began to pray silently.

He turned his head and opened his eyes. There, in front of him, was the translucent, glowing face of Stanley St. Cupp, his seven-years-dead business partner. Patrick screamed and threw himself backwards, slamming into the wall behind him.

A fucking ghost was in his office.

Stanley was hovering over the ground, chains bound around his body. He looked sad yet angry, not how Patrick would ever think he would look whilst seeing each other again.

“Stanley?” He whispered.

Stanley unwrapped the cloth from his jaw and cracked it, licking his lips that weren't there. Then, he glared at Patrick.

“You stupid man.”

Patrick flinched. He pulled his knees to his chest in protection. “Stanley, what…what are you doing here? You're…”

“Dead? Yes, I quite am,” Stanley replied, dusting himself off, “You are the stupidest man I've ever met.” Patrick frowned, and Stanley shrugged, “What? I thought we were saying things that were obvious.”

Patrick stood up slowly. “Can you sit?”

Stanley looked at the seat in front of Pat’s desk and nodded. He dragged his chains and heaved up his feet, falling into the chair.

They just stayed there awhile, staring, until Stanley spoke up again. “Do you see these chains, Patrick?” He lifted up the chains that matched his translucent white color. Patrick’s blood went ice cold, and he nodded slowly. “These chains represent all the greed, all the horrid things I did while I was alive. I'm in Hell, Patrick! Oh, I went to Hell!”

Patrick stumbled back. He went pale. He felt lightheaded. Oh God, what was happening?

Stanley got up and floated about. His chains took up most of the space in Pat’s office. “When you go to Hell, they make a chain just for you. Every link is something terrible you did while you were alive. _Look at me, Patrick! Take a good look!_ ”

His voice roared and he reared closer to Patrick’s face. “I was sent to warn you, I wanted to give you another chance. You, my partner, my lifelong friend.” Stanley’s voice grew quiet again.

“Your chains are much longer than mine,” he warned, “They've started making yours since you and I joined forces together. They're still making it! You'll turn out like me! Even worse than me!”

Patrick gulped. He was going crazy. Imagining Stanley in from of him? Warning him? No. He was losing his mind.

“You're tricking me,” Patrick glared, “I-I've just been overworking myself. You're not real; you're not-”

Stanley shrieked angrily, and Patrick lost his footing and fell onto his butt. He put his arms up to his face in fear.

Stanley calmed and stared at Patrick’s quivering form. He sighed and motioned for him to stand up. Slowly, Patrick got to his feet again.

“Oh, Patrick. Let me give you a chance,” Stanley spoke sympathetically, “You will be visited by three spirits tonight. Expect the first at ten o’clock. Try to open your heart. You won't believe how quickly your life can disappear before your eyes.” With that, he gathered up his chains, and disappeared through the door.

Patrick stood there, heart about to bust out of his ribcage. He gathered his things and raced out the door, wanting to get home. Upon arrival, he threw himself into his house. He locked all the doors and windows, he drew the curtains, and he stripped and changed into his silk pajamas. Then, he buried himself under the blankets, shaking. He glanced at the clock – 9:58 p.m.

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. He was hallucinating, schizophrenic. He was slowly going insane, and tonight, he'd officially lost his mind.

His grandfather clock chimed, taunting him with the hour of midnight. He waited, five minutes went by. Nothing. Another five minutes went by. Nothing happened.

Patrick relaxed into the mattress. There. He was right. Nothing was going to hap-

A bright light appeared at the foot of his bed, and slowly began to grow bigger. Patrick’s eyes flew wide open and he held his hands over his face when the light got too bright to look at.

Finally it dimmed enough to where Patrick could open his eyes. He jolted. There, standing next to him, was a glowing man with a bright grin.

“Patrick,” he smiled, “My name’s Andrew – the Ghost of Christmas Past. You can call me Shawzy.”

Patrick stared at him, trembling.

“Up, up, up.” Shawzy ordered, poking Patrick with his fingers. They burned, and the rich man yelped, stumbling out of bed to avoid the burning stabs of Shawzy’s fingers.

“Fabulous!” The ghost exclaimed, “I'm here to take you to your past Christmases. Now, take my hand.”

Patrick furrowed his eyebrows, “After what you just did to me? No way!”

Shawzy rolled his eyes and grabbed Patrick by the arm. It didn't burn. Patrick didn't have time to react, because Shawzy was snapping his free hand and suddenly, they were back where Patrick grew up. Patrick stumbled on his feet, staring at his childhood home. Patrick was silent as he watched the front door open.

_Fourteen year old him ran out, a pair of ice skater slung over his shoulder. “Come on, Erica!”_

Patrick quickly searched for a hiding place, but Shawzy put a hand on his shoulder. “They can't see us.” He assured, then turned back to the scene. Patrick did the same.

_Erica giggled and ran out after young Patrick. “Race you to the lake!” She slapped his shoulder and took off._

_“Be back by dinner!” Donna called from the doorway, waving them off._

_Patrick grinned, “We will!” Then, he raced after Erica._

Patrick’s eyes stung with tears when he laid eyes on his mother, young and alive and so, so loving.

Shawzy snapped his fingers again, and now they were in another scene, Christmas two years later, when Patrick was sixteen.

_They were at a Christmas party. Patrick was dressed up in a nice suit, and his eyes were watching one man on the dance floor. He maneuvered his way onto the floor, sliding cheekily in front of the man._

_Jonathan smiled down at him. “There you are. I couldn't find you anywhere.”_

_“Stanley wanted to go over some stuff for next week. I'm sorry, my love.” Patrick smiled and reached his hand up to caress Jonathan’s cheek. The man leaned into his touch with a soft, loving smile, and took Patrick’s hand in his._

_“I’ll have you for the rest of the night, won't I?” He asked, dark eyes shining with the Christmas lights._

_Patrick was utterly in love with him. “Of course, Jonny. All night long.”_

Patrick stared at Jonathan – so young and perfect. He hadn't seen that smile in so long.

“Now Jonny, that's a face I haven't seen in awhile. And if I know better, I'd say you haven't seen it, either.”

Patrick remained silent. So, Shawzy continued. “He was so happy, Patrick. You both were. Everything was wonderful, until work became more important to you than him.”

The scene blurred, and Patrick went red with anger. “Work was never more important than Jonathan! Never!”

“Really?” Shawzy quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing else. Patrick looked up and sighed. He had a feeling he'd be seeing this one.

_Patrick looked down at the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. There were only a couple people there, plus him. The gravestone had already been written._

_Stanley St. Cupp_

_1957-2010  
_

_That was all that was on the grave. No quotes, no achievements, no nothing. He was lucky to have his name and birth/death dates._

_Patrick turned. Stanley wasn't married, the business would be his. He had no kids, just two friends: himself, and a man named Joel Quenneville. No one else was here._

_Patrick stared at the grave. “A heart attack took you out, huh? I hope I'll have better luck than you.”_

Patrick watched as Joel walked away, and then past Patrick followed shortly after. The scene went away and was replaced with new one. “One more.” Shawzy snapped his fingers. They both turned to the new scene, and Patrick flinched. This conversation still haunted him.

_Patrick walked through the door, slamming it shut from the force of the wind. He muttered curse words under his breath. He threw off his hat and scarf, viciously ripping off the buttons of his coat._

_Jonathan walked in, eyes wide in worry. “Pat? There you are! Go, I've been looking for you everywhere. I thought something had happened!”_

_“Something did happen,” Patrick puffed, chucking his coat onto the couch, “We just lost a sponsor. The day before Christmas!”_

_Jonathan frowned, “You've been working?”_

_Patrick glared at Jonathan. “Yes, I've been working, where else would I be?” He retorted, storming into the kitchen, “Do you know how much money I lost? Hundreds!” He searched around for food. “Where's dinner? Is it not cooked?”_

_Jonathan walked over. “No, it isn't. I was out shopping for Christmas, and I came home, and you weren't here. It was Christmas Eve and Stanley always let you come home at six. I've been searching everywhere for you.”_

_Patrick glared harder. “God, Jonathan, I was working. You know, that thing that brings people money? The stuff that I buy all your gifts with?”_

_Jonathan flinched. “I don't ask you to buy me things.” Was the first thing he said. Then, “Pat, I'm sorry. I called you so many times and you didn't answer-”_

_“I was working. How many times do I have to say it? Don't you have a brain up there?”_

_Jonathan tightened his jaw. “Well, it seems like you're always working these days.”_

_“You make it sound like you want me to stop working. Who's gonna buy you all that shit you want, huh Jonathan? That money is what bought you that bracelet you've got on right now. What are you gonna do when I stop working? No one's gonna pay for you and your needs!”_

_Jonathan’s face contorted with hurt, and he took off the bracelet and threw it at Patrick. “You bought me that for Christmas last year, you inconsiderate asshole! I didn't ask for it!”_

_“You accepted it!”_

_“What was I supposed to do? Give it back? I loved it, but I didn't ask for it! You got it on your own!”_

_“Do you hear how greedt you're being? Asking me to stop working so you can buy whatever your heart desires? God, you're so selfish.”_

Patrick flinched and watched with a heavy heart and watery eyes as Jonathan straightened, let out a tear, and went upstairs. Patrick had fallen asleep on the couch that night, and when he woke, Jonathan was gone.

The scene blurred, and Patrick lowered his head. “No more,” he whispered, “No more, Shawzy.” Patrick turned his back to the images. “Stop, Spirit,” he ordered, “I said stop!

And suddenly, they were back in his room, in present times. Shawzy stood by the window, glowing. “Two spirits left, Patrick,” he taunted, “Be ready.” Then, he flew out the window, leaving Patrick alone in his bed.

He looked at the time- 10:02 p.m. Sleep. He needed sleep. Patrick leaned back into his pillows and pulled the covers up over his body. Sleep. He wanted sleep.

The grandfather clock chimed at eleven o’clock, waking Patrick up from the safety of his slumber. He sat up groggily and looked around. No spirits. Now glowing yellow lights. No Shawzy. No Stanley.

A pair of hands came down hard on his shoulders from behind and Patrick screamed, flinging himself forward so that he tumbled off the bed. He got to his feet quickly, and found a man sitting on his bed, glowing red and green.

The spirit grinned at him. “Patrick! Welcome back to reality! My name is Corey Crawford, the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

Patrick stared at Corey, still a bit drowsy from sleep. He thought it was a dream. God Almighty it wasn't a dream.

“Come, come. We have much to see!” Corey grabbed Patrick by both arms, hauled him up, and tossed them out the window. Patrick shrieked as he plummeted, but Corey grabbed the back of his shirt and carried him off.

“Hey, be careful! This is silk!”

After a bit of flying, Corey landed in front of a house. “They can't see us.” Corey reminded, then walked into the house through the walls. Patrick tried, but hit his face on the brick. Corey laughed and poked his head out of the wall, grabbing Patrick by the hand, and dragging him inside.

Patrick took a look around. It was a nice little house, very homey. But it was old and run down, in dire need of repairs. There was a table, set with faded plates and silverware. It was covered with bowls and plates of food.

_A woman walked out from the kitchen, beautiful in hair and skin, and set down a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Come and get it!” She yelled, and footsteps pounded from upstairs._

_A group of men ran in, followed by a little girl, hobbling on her leg. The boys, they had to be twenty or older, turned and picked her up, carrying her around. She squealed, giggling excitedly._

_A man came from down the stairs, and Patrick realized that the man was Patrick Sharp, his secretary. He smiled at the scene in front of him and walked over, kissing the woman. “Merry Christmas, Abby.”_

_“Merry Christmas, Patrick.”_

And that was like a kick to the gut, because Patrick felt like the universe was taunting him, that he could have something like that if he hadn't have been so stupid.

_The family took a seat around the table, and Corey leaned over. “That's Patrick Sharp and his wife, Abby. Those men are Sharp’s friends – John Hayden, Brandon Saad-you work with him- Lance Bouma, Richard Panik, Marian Hossa, and Duncan Keith. The little boy is Keith’s son, Colton, and the girls are Sharp’s daughters, Madelyn and Sadie.”_

_One of the girls hobbled over to her seat, and her father picked her up, setting her on his lap. She smiled and ate some turkey, watching her family tired as she laid her head on Sharp’s chest._

“What's wrong with her?” Patrick asked Corey.

“Madelyn is sick, Patrick. Very sick. Doctors aren't really sure what it is, but whatever medicine she's taking has been helping. But the Sharp’s are running out of money. They can't afford her medication anymore.”

_“How's job hunting coming, Abby?” John asked whilst tossing a roll at Sadie. Sadie grinned and chucked it back._

_“Terrible. No one will hire me.” Abby sighed._

_“Well, at least you have a job already.” Lance tried to cheer her up._

_“Yes, but the pay isn't enough. We can barely pay for the house, let alone food and Maddy’s medicine.”_

_Sharpy held onto Madelyn a little tighter at that._

_“I still can't believe your boss isn't giving Christmas bonuses,” Duncan shook his head at Sharpy, “What kind of boss is he?”_

_“A greedy one.” Brandon grumbled, stabbing his turkey._

Patrick frowned. Brandon was right. Sharp really did need the money from the bonus.

_“I'll say.” Hossa agreed._

_“Guys, guys, guys,” Sharp interrupted, “Look, I know Mr. Kane can be a little…particular about money. But it could be worse. He could pay be barely anything. He could fire me. And, he hasn't. Because of Mr. Kane, I have a job. That's what I look at. I just feel bad for the man. He has no Christmas spirit anymore. I can't help but think something awful happened to him to cause him to be like this.”_

_Everyone went silent, and Sharp held up his glass. “To Mr. Kane.”_

_Brandon held up his glass, then Abby, and then the others, and they blinked them together, echoing, “To Mr. Kane.”_

Patrick watched the scene, touched and moved that Patrick Sharp had defended him, even after everything he'd ever done to him. God, he was a horrible person.

“I have one more scene to show you.” Corey told Patrick, and took him by the shirt again. They flew a couple streets over and rested on a rooftop. It was snowing heavily now, but Patrick felt no cold.

“Watch the streets.” Corey told him.

Patrick obeyed, and seconds later, a figure came running down the street, hiding their head from the harsh December winds. They unlocked their door and pushed their way inside and Patrick was suddenly standing in the living room with Corey.

 _The person took off their hat_ , and Patrick’s breath caught in his throat when he saw that the figure was Jonathan. _Jonathan took off his coat and draped it over the coat rack, before going to start the fire. Once it was lit, he went and fixed up a couple out-of-place things on the gorgeous Christmas tree._

Patrick remembered Jonathan always wanting Pat to help with the tree. He did for the first few years, but then started working late. The tree would always be completed by Christmas Eve, without Pat’s help.

_Jonathan took out a salad from the fridge as he cleaned up around the house, eating and cleaning and eating and cleaning._

Leave it to Jonathan to double task eating and cleaning.

_The phone rang, and Jonathan answered it without looking at the Caller ID. “Hello?” A smile spread across his face. “Hi! Merry Christmas to you too, Ma Ma.” He paused. “No, things are going fine here. I wish I was up with you, but plane tickets costed so much and you know how I feel about driving such a long distance.” There was another pause. “Well tell David to fuck off then.” He was still grinning._

_However, his mother said something that made his face drop. He sighed with a small chuckle. “No, Ma Ma. I haven't settled down yet.” He put the salad back in the fridge and closed the door._

_Jonathan’s visage turned longing. “Yes, I know. I miss him too.”_

Patrick secretly hoped Jonathan was talking about him. He hadn't talked in a year or two.

_Jonathan's face went hard suddenly. “But it doesn't matter. He's still the same. All he cares about is money, money, money. You know he hasn't called his sisters in years? Erica called me yesterday asking if she could speak with Patrick since she couldn't get ahold of him. She had no idea we'd broken up.”_

_It was silent again, neither parties saying anything. Jonathan sat down by the tree and held his head in his hands. “So why do I miss him so much?”_

Patrick hid his face in his hands to stop the embarrassing tears that threatened to escape. He hadn't cried yet and he wasn't about to start. His sister had called Jonathan? How long had it been since he'd called. Not since his mother died ten or so years ago. He couldn't recall any talking between any of them after that day.

“Take me home, Corey. I can't bare to see his anymore.” The image of Jonathan, so heartbroken and still so beautiful locked in his mind and wouldn't go away. Patrick refused to torture himself any longer.

Corey did as he was asked — well, sort of asked — and they were back in Patrick's bed. “The next spirit will come when it wants.” Corey informed Patrick, and burst into glitter, the flakes disappearing in the air.

Patrick tried to fall asleep, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. He tossed and turned, waiting anxiously for the final spirit to come. Hours ticked by, midnight, one, two, three, four.

And then, Patrick’s window opened. A figure draped in a black cloak appeared at the foot of Patrick's bed. Patrick nearly passed out. The figure quickly pulled off the hood to reveal a human, not-at-all scary face. Well, not really.

“I am Brent Seabrook, Ghost of Christmas yet to come,” he introduced himself, “We don't have much time, Mr. Kane. So please, follow me.” Patrick did as he was told. Brent clapped his hands three times, and they were transported to a scene. A graveyard.

“The Ghost of Christmas Past gave you three scenes,” Brent spoke, “The Ghost of Christmas Present gave you two scenes. I will give you one.” He pointed his finger towards the single grave at the back of the graveyard. There was a man kneeling by the stone.

Patrick slowly approached the man. His eyes took in the man’s face, and Patrick's heart plummeted when he saw that it was Sharp. His face was pink from the cold and his eyes were rimmed red with tears. His hands clutched a bouquet of daisies. Patrick read the stone.

 _Madelyn Sharp_  
2011-2020  
Our Loving Daughter, Sister, Niece, and Granddaughter  
“My Darling Princess”

Patrick covered his mouth with his hand. “No,” he whispered, “Oh my god, no.” He fell to his knees beside Sharpy. Sharpy stared at the gravestone with eyes filled with such devastation, such _brokenness_ , Patrick thought for sure that if Sharpy started sobbing, he would, too.

Sharpy put the flowers by the grave and buried them in the snow to stabilize them. He stared at the gravestone again, longingly. “My baby girl,” he whispered, voice cracking as he held the stone with a mitten-clad hand, “What I would do to hold you just...one more time.”

And yeah, Patrick broke, and let a tear slide down his cheek as Sharpy stood and walked off, crying. Patrick sat at the grave a while longer, and Brent walked over. He said nothing, just pointed over to another grave on the opposite corner, also alone.

Patrick sniffled and got up, trudging over. There was a person by the grave. The man, oh my god, that was Jonathan.

Patrick took off, stumbling in the snow that wasn't cold, and came to a sudden halt when he saw Jonathan kneel down to brush the snow away from the engravement. Patrick came up behind him and read the words once Jonathan’s mitten revealed them.

_Patrick Kane II  
1988-_

“No.” Patrick whispered. His eyes went wide and his face went white. He was dead. Jonathan hadn't revealed the date yet. He didn't know what the year was. Maddy could have just died or could have been passed on for a while now. Jonathan brushed off some more, and Patrick squeezed his eyes shut.

He heard Jonathan stand, and he peeked open his eyes, refusing to look at the numbers on the grave. Instead, he met Jonathan’s darkened orbs, filled with sorrow, but at the same time, emptiness.

“A heart attack,” Jonathan laughed weakly to himself, but stared into Patrick's eyes, like he knew Patrick was right there in front of him, “You idiot. I told you that you were working to hard. This is the result.”

His eyes flashed with hurt at the realization that yes, Patrick was dead in that future time. He shook his head and walked away, dropping something in the snow. Patrick walked from around the grave and picked it up.

The bracelet.

“No!” Patrick yelled, “No! No, you can't let this happen! This can't happen! Take me back!” He looked around for Brent, but he was nowhere to be found. “Brent! Spirit! Take me home! Take me back!”

His feet began to sink into the snow, and he suddenly felt the piercing pains from the cold run up his body. “No! Brent, please! I'll change! I'll be better! I swear it! Please, let me fix it!”

His hips disappeared, and he began to shiver, twist, and writhe. “Spirit! Brent! Let me go home!” His abdomen sunk. “I'll reinstate the bonuses! I'll give Sharp a promotion! I'll call Jonathan! I want to!”

His shoulder were buried now. Brent walked into view and pulled up his hood.

“I have to help Madelyn!” Patrick cried. His neck was gone. “I have to fix things with Jonathan!” He spit away the snow by his mouth. “Please!”

Brent watched as Patrick was submerged beneath the snow.

Patrick woke up with a start. His breathing was heavy and he was sweating. He looked around his room. The clock was ticking by the wall, the window was open, the doors were closed-

The window was open.

Patrick always sleeps with the windows closed.

Patrick scrambled out of bed and looked at the grandfather clock- 7:24 a.m. He rushed to the mirror. Nothing looked out of place — well, except his hair, but that was always a mess — and he definitely wasn't dead. He went to the window next and threw it open. There was a young boy walking down the street, dragging his sled about the new Christmas snow.

“Hey! Boy!” He called, and the boy looked up. “What day is it?”

The boy curled into himself just a bit, knowing it was Patrick. “Um, Christmas Day, sir, December twenty-fifth.”

“Two thousand seventeen, yes?”

“Yes sir.”

Patrick cheered. He was alive. He quickly dove for his bedside table and grabbed a stack of twenties. There was about two hundred dollars in there or so. He tossed it out the window to the boy, who caught it. “Hey, do me a favor? Go and buy the biggest turkey you can find, okay? Bring it back here, and I'll let you keep the change.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Patrick grinned. “Yes, really! Now hurry up! I've got things to do!” The boys ran off excitedly, and Patrick changed out of his pajamas. He dug around in his closet to find normal, not-so-upright clothes and tugged them on. Then, he grabbed his phone, and called Erica.

They talked for an hour, Erica shouting for Jackie and Jessica and then breaking down because “oh my god, Patrick it's been years!” Patrick almost started crying too. He hung up when the turkey arrived and promised to call again soon. He let the boy keep the change (which was close to $175 dollars) like he promised. The boy ran off, shouting about it happily.

He put the turkey in the freezer and grabbed his coat. He had to get to the office. It took him another hour or so, but he was able to sign all the checks for the bonuses. Sharpy got a little extra. (Okay, it wasn't a little. Patrick took one look at Sharpy’s name and remembered the grave, and immediately wrote a check for $10,000 — double what the bonuses were for the other workers.)

He stuffed them in his coat pockets and went to every house individually, sliding the letters through the mail slots and under doors. He was now stood on the porch of the Sharp household. It was close to nine thirty now, so he figured they'd be awake. He knocked, suddenly nervous. After the conversation he overheard last night, he wasn't sure how he was going to react to Sharpy.

The door opened, and Sharpy’s eyes went wide. “Mister Kane,” he greeted, eyebrows jumping up, “Um, what can I do for you?”

Patrick could see Abby, Sadie, and Maddy in the living room behind him. They were all looking at him, Abby’s face filled with worry. Patrick dug the check out of his pocket and handed it to his secretary. “Merry Christmas.”

Sharpy furrowed his eyebrows at the letter and opened the door, “Would you like to come in, Mr. Kane?”

Patrick stepped in only a little, to where Sharpy could close the door. “Just for a little while; I have to be somewhere- do something.”

Sharpy nodded and opened the envelope. He took out the check, read it, read it over again, and then stared up at Patrick with watery eyes. “Mr. Kane…”

“Patrick. Call me Patrick.”

Abby walked over and took the check. Her hand came to cover her mouth. “Mr. Kane, we can't-”

“No, I insist.” Patrick argued. “Please, it's the least I could do. After everything I've done, how I've treated you and the others, after learning about your daughter…” he looked at Maddy, who smiled at Patrick, unaware of what was happening. “I wanted to help out. I owe you that much.”

Maddy and Sadie walked over to their parents. “Mama? Daddy? Who's this?” Sadie asked.

Sharpy picked up his girls. “This is my boss, Mr. Kane. Mr. K- uh, Patrick, these are my daughters: Maddy and Sadie.”

Patrick held out his hands, and they high-fived them. Patrick grinned. “I'd really like to stay, but there's an old friend of mine I have to meet.” He told them. “It's something I should have done a long time ago.”

Abby smiled at him, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Kane.”

Patrick hid his face from the cold as he made his way to the door. He felt warm and fuzzy inside despite the weather after coming from the Sharp’s. He hoped that feeling wouldn't leave after this visit. He knocked on the door and held his breath.

There was shuffling, and then the door opened, revealing Jonathan in his beauty. It took a moment to register, but Jonathan took a slight step back in shock. “Patrick?”

Patrick smiled small, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hi, Jonathan,” he spoke sheepishly, “Merry Christmas.”

Jonathan blinked at him, “Uh...yeah, Merry Christmas.” He paused, “I- What are you doing here?”

Patrick shrugged, shuffling on his feet. “Something happened last night. It did a lot to me and, it helped me open my eyes a little more. I realized how much of an idiot I was throughout the years, and how much I messed up that night. I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean them. I shouldn't have let you go.”

Jonathan stared at Patrick, then moved to he could enter the small home. Patrick walked in, letting Jonathan close the door. It was silent, the lights of the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner of his eye. He walked over to it, admiring it.

“You always did such a beautiful job on the tree.” Patrick thought aloud, looking at all the ornaments. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the bracelet hanging on the tree.

Jonathan walked over beside him, nodding. “Thank you. I always wanted you to do it with me. It made it more special.”

Patrick frowned. “Then I started working more. Jonny, I'm so sorry. I let the money get to my head and I lost grasp of the most important thing in my life: you.”

Jonathan smirked a little, “I'm a thing?”

Patrick couldn't help but smile and laugh a bit. “Always so particular.” He went serious again and reached down, taking Jonathan’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together. “You meant the world to me. No matter what I did or said, you were always more important than work. I didn't show it well, and that day, I didn't say it well, either. But you were. You are. You always will be.”

Jonathan turned so that they were facing one another. “Just shut up and kiss me, Patrick.”

And so he did. Patrick wrapped his arms around Jonathan’s waist and pulled him close, staring into his eyes before pressing his lips against Jonny’s. It was messy, neither have kissed another in two or so years since the last time the talked, but it was perfect in every single way possible. Because, Jonny was pressed against him, his hands balled into Patrick’s shirt, and kissing him back like his life depended on it.

Patrick pried open an eye a little and saw Shawzy, Corey, Brent, and Stanley watching from out the window, smiling proudly.

Patrick smiled into the kiss and closed his eyes again, kissing Jonathan, never letting go.


End file.
